


Itch

by Zoe_Dameron



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: As Fuck, Asphyxiation, Bondage, Captivity, DarkPilot, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Deepthroating, Gags, Inappropriate Use of the Force, M/M, Mommy Issues, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape/Non-con Elements, Restraints, Violence, this is exactly what it looks like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-04-16 00:07:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14152356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoe_Dameron/pseuds/Zoe_Dameron
Summary: From the prompt: Kylo just takes what he wants.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I'm back on my bullshit. 
> 
> Tags are there for a reason. If this isn't your thing, don't read it. Seriously.

He’s pouring over the intel on the latest moves of the Resistance when it creeps up again, like an itch, just under the skin. A pathetic and senseless desire for release, simultaneously pointless and unnecessary but so damned _persistent_ to the point where it becomes hard to ignore.

Casually unbuttoning the bottom half of his outfit, he reaches a hand down his pants and grabs his own cock. It’s already hard. _Of course_. He lets out a loud sigh, entirely not the mood and annoyed at his body’s ceaseless compulsions. It will need to be dealt with.

Fortunately, he already has everything he needs to ensure a pleasurable release.

Ren waves over one of the Stormtroopers standing at the entrance of the throne room and hands off the data pad he was using. With his now-free hand he pulls lightly at the chain attached to the base of his seat. He’s been allowing Dameron the minor act of rebellion to wander off as far as the restraints allow, partially because he doesn’t care where Dameron goes while he’s not being used, but also confident that one day soon he’ll have broken him so absolutely that he’ll finally resign to his rightful spot at Ren’s feet.

“Wake up, pilot,” he coos, jingling the links between his fingers.

When he receives no response, as always, he sighs to himself again, tucking his cock back into his pants and dragging himself off of his throne.

He pulls at the chain harder this time, drawing a shout of pain and surprise from the shirtless man as he stumbles over.

“Kneel.”

“ _Fuck you_.”

It’s like work, at this point. Transactional. They both know what Kylo wants, and they both know that Kylo always gets what he wants. Still, he doesn’t blame the pilot for fighting back. Part of him even appreciates the effort Dameron takes each time, the way he struggles so valiantly against the inevitable. It’s why he had the pilot’s arms fastened behind his back with chains loose enough to draw them to his sides; not enough length to ever actually succeed at stopping Ren, but just enough to keep trying. This would become so boring otherwise.

Today, though, he’s not in the mood for games. He just wants the desire gone, wants it _done_ so he can get back to more important work.

With barely a thought he sends Poe crashing to his knees against the smooth, reflective black floor. The pilot grunts at the impact, teeth gritted and muscles shaking against the force compulsion. His bloody nose seems to have dried a while ago; Kylo can see the darkened smears between Poe’s bruised clavicle and the thick, heavy durasteel collar he wears, and he resolves to have him cleaned once he’s finished.

He spares himself a moment to try to appreciate the sight of Dameron, of his mother’s _favorite_ , the Resistance poster boy, subjugated and beaten down and helpless before him. The man is attractive, which is one of the reasons he keeps him for this purpose, but Ren’s interest is mostly biological. There’s no use trying to make this anything beyond what it is; any sense of romance or humanity he’d feel about another person was long ago swallowed by darkness.

Dameron grunts again, brow knitted and angry as he struggles to pull away, arms twisting at his sides.

 _He is quite the sight_ , Ren thinks to himself as he pulls his cock out again, stroking it back to fullness while he watches the pilot work himself up.

There’s a small box hatch in the floor next to Ren’s throne and he cracks it open, looking over the toys contained within. He settles on an open-mouth gag, a durasteel ring in the middle attached to four prongs that connect with a black leather strap. One of his personal favorites; he’s found that the less energy he needs to devote to keeping Poe’s mouth open or body still with the Force, the more enjoyable the release.

Beside him, Dameron lets out a pathetic whine that turns into a growl of frustration.

Ren used to try explaining what he was going to do to the pilot before he did it, but today is all about getting the job done. And besides, it’s happened so often at this point that there’s no need to explain. Poe already knows what’s coming.

His selection of the gag draws over two of Ren’s Praetorian Guards, intimately familiar with the routine, and Ren goes back to stroking himself while one pulls Poe’s head back by his hair as the other works Poe’s mouth open to fit the piece in. The pilot tries in vain to shake them and the gag loose, long after the leather strap has been fastened tight around his head.

Ren drinks it all in; the muffled shouting and comforting rattle of chains in the near-silence of the massive room, the desperation and defiance and flashes of white hot fear that flare up in Poe’s mind. Even the sheen of sweat glistening off of Poe’s body hits Ren at his core, stirring a warmth in his gut that does wonders to scratch that biological itch.

His guards stand at attention on both sides of the prisoner once they’re finished, each resting a firm hand on Poe’s shoulders to hold the man in place and make things easier on their Supreme Leader.

He lets his black pants fall to the floor and he steps out of them easily, watching the pilot’s eyes widen with horror before he looks away and resumes struggling.

Poe angrily shouts around the gag when Ren approaches, hurling something that sounds like a barrage of insults. Ren ignores him, taking himself in hand while he gently but indifferently guides himself into his captive’s mouth. He lets the tip rest on Poe’s tongue and he moans at the calming sensation of the warm heat of it, bucking his hips lightly as he works himself the rest of the way in, tangling his fingers in Poe’s curls with one hand and holding himself at the base with the other.

Beneath him, the pilot has mostly stilled, looking up at Ren with that predictable hatred in his eyes. It’s all Ren needs to continue chasing the sensation he’s only teased himself with up until this point, pulling back the hand on his cock to push himself in deeper.

Dameron’s mouth is hot and wet and absolute _perfection_ , drawing a moan of pleasure from Ren when he finally breaks through the resistance of the back of Poe’s throat with a reluctant _pop_ that he can read all over the pilot’s face. He can feel the muscles in Poe’s throat spasm and constrict around his dick, the muted sounds of agony adding to the heavenly tightness.

He begins to thrust in earnest, reaching down to smear his fingers in the tears spilling from the pilot’s eyes before moving to feel the length of himself through his captive’s throat. Sparks of helplessness shoot through Poe’s mind and Ren monitors them closely, enjoying himself immensely but mindful of the length of time Poe has been without air.

“ _Oh, yes…_ ” he breathes out in ecstasy, gorging himself on the tingling sensation lighting up the nerves throughout his body every time Poe’s tongue thrashes against the base of Ren’s cock.

When the edges of darkness begin to creep up around Poe’s consciousness, Ren pulls himself out slightly, allowing Dameron use of his throat for long enough to cough and take a breath, before forcing himself back in, over and over and over.

The warmth in Ren’s guts builds to a strong heat, the feelings of pleasure and control and unstoppable _power_ growing with each snap of his hips. He tangles his fingers in the pilot’s soft curls to pull his head down, lips and durasteel ring brushing against the base of Ren’s dick as he fucks into his mouth. He moans, holding him there tightly, allowing Dameron to thrash until his body finally goes limp, eyes glazing over before closing completely.

Ren pulls his cock out of Poe’s throat slowly, savoring the sight of how helpless the man looks below him, cheeks flushed and pink and wet with spit and tears and once-dried blood.

“The throne, today,” Ren tells the Praetorian Guards. “I’ll have him from behind.”

They nod, unlatching the chain attached to the collar and easily lifting Poe’s unconscious body, refastening the collar to a shorter implement near the back of the chair as they arrange the captive as they know their Supreme Leader prefers.

Dameron’s loose cotton pants are removed and the gag is untied and returned to the box by one guard while the other loops a thick rope through notches in the base of the throne, tying and knotting both ends through the links in Poe’s cuffs, holding his upper body down. Poe’s ankles are fastened to cuffs permanently fixed to the floor, leaving him bent over, bared open and ready for Ren to take as he pleases.

He dismisses the guards for now, satisfied with their efficiency and quickness, and he considers rewarding them with use of Dameron’s body once he’s finished.

At the moment, though, he’s only concerned with his own needs.

He makes his way over to his throne where the still-unconscious man is tied down, relieved that he will soon be rid of this distraction and back to other more important tasks.

Ren traces the soft pink rim of Poe’s hole and loops in a finger, gently pulling at the muscle from the inside. Poe’s back is a mess of bruising and gnarled scars that catch when Ren smooths his hand over them before gripping Poe’s hip. He removes his finger from the pilot and grabs himself again, considering asking one of his guards for additional lubrication before dismissing the idea; the slick left on his cock from the pilot’s mouth should be enough for his purposes.

Dameron’s still unconscious but he stirs as he’s entered, Ren’s long dick forcing itself past the resistance with little regard for the pain that likely accompanies it. He pushes himself in to the base, relishing in how _fucking good_ it feels before he begins to thrust, slowly pulling out to the head and slamming back in.

There’s something so beautiful about the simple pleasure he gets watching his cock move in and out and in and out of his captive, and he grabs handfuls of Poe’s ass in feral excitement, already working up a sweat.

The room is silent save for Ren’s grunting and the sound of flesh smacking against flesh as he builds himself up into a frenzy.

He gathers a small amount of Force lightning into the tips of his fingers and pushes it into the pilot through his tight grip on the man’s hips, immediately waking Dameron with a shocked cry of pain. Ren watches the initial confusion covering Poe’s face, quickly to turning fear and agony when he inevitably realizes he’s immobilized for Ren’s sexual purposes.

 _Again_.

Dameron tries to get away anyway, hands balling into fists behind his back, muscles tensed and straining. Ren reaches up and places his giant hand on the back of Poe’s neck, forcing his head down and holding him to near stillness.

The pilot cries out as Ren’s pace increases, working up to a sharp friction that only adds to his pleasure.

He’s so close, _so fucking close_ that he’s nearly delirious with it, satisfaction almost within reach as he slams into the pilot again and again and _again_ until the man is reduced to tears beneath him, his wailing filling the room and finally pushing Ren over edge.

He pulls his hand off of Poe’s neck and moves to hold his hips tight enough to bruise as he thrusts in once more, _hard_ , pleasure and pure fucked-out _bliss_ overriding everything else in the entire universe as he orgasms deep into the pilot, the aftershocks of it nearly bringing Ren to his knees.

The two stay tangled for one bare, vulnerable moment, each trying to recover their breath for different reasons.

Ren pulls out slowly, drawing it out. Part of him doesn’t want this to be over but he can’t identify why, though the view of his semen-coated cock gently sliding out of the pilot’s ass nearly causes him to go off again, and he smiles to himself.

Dameron’s gone limp, still crying but trying desperately to hide it, eyes bloodshot, whimpering pathetically against the smooth seat of the throne. Ren watches in mild amusement as the same two Praetorian Guards untie and drag him away to the ‘fresher. The pilot still struggles weakly, clearly in pain, legs nearly useless.

Ren doesn’t bother retrieving his own pants or resuming his earlier task, still riding the post-orgasmic high and sweaty enough that it will become annoying to stay like this for too long.

Instead, he follows the guards to the ‘fresher.

He’s never taken the pilot there.

He has other needs anyway, always new limits to explore and itches that need scratching. Thank the Force for Poe Dameron.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moderating comments because duh.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @Klyaksa for offering up an excellent narrative and motivation for why Kylo Ren does what he does in this fic. <3
> 
> Ren's indifference from the original prompt has been nearly forgotten at this point, but some of it is still there. I just prefer him to have a bit of conflict in his depravity, a little more under the skin than what he intends to show others.

The crushing hold on his arms tighten every time he tries to plant his feet on the slick black floor as they lead him out of the throne room. Every inch of him hurts – Praetorian Guards are far stronger than they look – but still Poe puts up a fight as he’s dragged. The only thing that pulls his attention away from the ache of Ren’s most recent assault is the fear of not knowing where they’re taking him or what is coming next. He feels a small swell of relief at being untethered to the throne for the first time in far too long, but his arms are still chained to his sides and the thick durasteel collar weighing down his neck rubs painfully across his bruised throat.

“ _Get off of me_ ,” he grunts out, using what’s left of his energy to throw his elbow into one of the Guards, nearly regretting it when the other retaliates with a swift jab at his side that blooms off into jagged splinters of pain. The cuff of the Guard’s gauntlets is sharp and Poe cries out from the contact. He allows himself to go limp as they continue to drag him down hallway after hallway until he’s certain they’re in another section of the ship entirely.

The room they pull him into is humid and dimly-lit, walls and floor and ceiling covered in thousands of small black tiles. Showerheads jut out of the walls at even intervals, maybe five to a side, and only then does Poe realize where they are.

Stormtrooper barracks.

He panics again, finding his footing and planting himself, hard, the memory of the time Ren had offered him as a reward to half a dozen Stormtroopers still painfully fresh in his mind. _I’ll die before I go through that again_ , he thinks to himself, ignoring the fact that he knows he has no choice in the matter.

The Guards easily subdue him, pulling him to the center of the wet room and letting go without warning. With his arms locked at his sides he has no choice but to let his body fall, and his temple bounces off the floor with a sickening crack.

Momentarily dazed by the shock of it, he doesn’t even notice the foot of one of the Praetorian Guards coming down to settle between his shoulder blades and forcing him face first back to the glossy floor.

When they turned the showerheads on, he doesn’t know, but with his cheek pressed to the ground he watches the water mix with the blood from his head, turning black above the tiles before it swirls down the drain.

He groans and sputters and tries to keep the water out of his eyes as he waits for whatever’s next, teeth clenched and hands tightening into fists in frustration as he waits for a sign, a clue – _anything_ – about what’s coming. As bad as things get with Ren, and they do get _bad_ , at least he’ll speak to Poe and acknowledge him when he says something. The Praetorian Guards never speak and Poe feels like he’s going mad with as long as he’s spent in tense, horrified silence here. The fact that they’ve made him prefer time with Kylo Ren over anyone just makes the whole thing worse.

“Get on with it!” he growls, and to his surprise he feels the weight lift off his back. Without hesitation he rolls himself away and struggles to his feet, completely open and vulnerable but on the defensive, trying to blink away the blood from the cut in his forehead that’s now pouring down into his eye. The rapid change in blood pressure sends his head spinning and he nearly topples over again almost immediately.

Through his blurred and compromised vision he can see them, the Praetorian Guards, stripped down to their crisp red uniform shirt and pants, on the other side of the room. Without their weapons and helmets they’re almost more terrifying, their eyes simultaneously focused and passionate and completely vacant. Still, they’re ordinary people underneath the armor. Humanoid, imperfect, average. Poe wonders if this is a life they’d chosen or if they had been kidnapped as children, just like Finn.

“Begin,” comes a voice from behind him, and Poe spins around in dread to find the source of it, even though he already knows. In a dry, shadowy corner of the shower room stands Kylo Ren. He’s completely shirtless, down to nothing but his pants, and the contrast of the black clothes against his pale skin and broad chest and shoulders is as imposing as it is unsettling. His hair is wet from the steam of the showers. He looks like something out of a nightmare.

Poe recoils on instinct, straight into the waiting grip of the Praetorian Guards. With a firm hold on his upper arms they knock him back down to his knees and somehow it hurts worse than smashing his head against the tile, re-bruising the bone and sending pain rocketing up his legs.

He chokes from it, coughing out a weak noise of distress. One of the Guards grabs the chain holding Poe’s wrists and wrenches Poe’s arms up behind his back, wrapping two fistfuls around their hand until Poe feels like his arms are going to snap out of their sockets. Hunched over as he is, he has no choice but to watch the water flow across the tiles.

At the sight of red boots in front of him he tenses up, preparing himself for the inevitable, shutting his eyes and trying not to panic. The Guard lifts Poe’s head up by his chin with one hand, and Poe catches a brief glimpse of the syringe before it’s inserted into the soft tissue of his forehead. It hurts at first – a sharp bite – and then the sensation melts away into a dull numbness that fogs up his whole world.

The Guard pulls out a tool, something that looks like a staple gun, and presses it to Poe’s forehead. After a moment, Poe realizes the blood is no longer dripping into his eyes.

His head is released from the Guard’s grip and it’s back to watching water flow across tile, only now there are bubbles in the water, thick soapy suds all around him. There are gentle hands in his hair, massaging across his scalp. They move to his neck, pulling down the thick collar and massaging there too, sliding over to work his shoulders and arms and the skin around his abused wrists.

From behind him the other Guard pulls up on his arms and it hurts, but less than it did initially, and Poe allows himself to be pushed forward until his hips are in the air. He wants to thrash, wants to fight back, but whatever they injected him with leaves him docile and completely helpless, and he finds himself confused at how much better it feels to let them do what they want.

One of them sticks a finger in his ass, he doesn’t know which one, but it’s clinical and efficient, not probing for any kind of sensation or working to stretch him open. It’s over in a flash and his feels his arms being pulled back until he’s resting on his heels, still locked in the Guard’s tight grip.

The other Guard returns from behind him with a palm full of soap and reaches for Poe’s dick, taking it in both hands and scrubbing him thoroughly. Crouched as he is, Poe can get a good look at the Guard’s face, though he chooses instead to turn away. Even through the thick slush of whatever they injected him with he’s still not comfortable with a fully clothed stranger grabbing his dick without his consent.

Once he’s done, the Guard grabs the rag draped across his thigh and pads lightly at the smears of old blood under Poe’s nose.

The Guard nods in satisfaction once he’s done and Poe feels the tight grip on his arms fall away. He lets out the breath he’d been holding and falls to his side, catching himself with one hand for balance, knees still tucked loosely underneath him.

He doesn’t watch as the Guards leave, barely notices they’re gone as he tries to struggle back up to his feet. His legs are shaky, likely from whatever they doped him with, but he finds his balance eventually, careful not to slip on the slick wet floor. He’s clean, for the first time in… a long time, and for that he’s mildly grateful.

The relief doesn’t last very long. From the corner of his eye he catches sight of Kylo Ren, still hovering menacingly in the corner.

Poe shakes his wet hair out and manages to stay mostly balanced. Leveling a glare at his captor he asks, “Well? Now what?”

Ren thinks on the question for a moment, his mouth pulling into something close to a smirk. “What do you think?”

“What do I think? I think you’re a _sick fuck_ , you evil bantha-shit motherfu –“

Poe doesn’t have a chance to finish his sentence before Kylo Ren raises his hand and uses the Force to launch him against the far wall, the intensity knocking the air out of his lungs. Seconds later, the pressure is released and he’s dropped to the floor with a groan.  

From across the room, Ren is stares at him with a hunger in his eyes that Poe is all too familiar with. When Ren begins unbuttoning his pants, Poe can’t help but laugh.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? You’re sick, you know that?” He coughs as the ache from the impact against the wall starts to throb in his shoulders. “Fucking disgusting.”

Ren expression straightens and he unbuttons his pants to pull himself out, greedily stroking his cock to fullness as he stalks forward towards where Poe had fallen against the wall. The sight of it makes Poe feel physically nauseous. He closes his eyes and tries not to panic.

“Scared, pilot? You’ve been through this often enough to know better than to fear something so familiar.”

Poe opens his eyes to see Ren in front of him, crouched and nearly dripping with lust, insatiable, like he hadn’t just taken his fill back in the throne room. Undaunted, Poe is quick to reply. “Not scared. _Disgusted_ ,” he spits back. “Confused about how someone so depraved and callous could be related to the General.”

Wrong answer. With barely any effort, Ren sends Poe back up against the wall and holds him there before slamming him against the wall on their left. This time Poe’s head connects first, whiting out his vision for a few heartbeats. When he’s finally allowed to slump to the ground he nearly throws up all over himself, choking back the acids rising in his throat.

Ren is back over him an instant, close enough for Poe to feel the man’s hot breath above him, close enough to see the beads of precum disappear into the man’s palm with every angry stroke.

“Y’know,” Poe begins, inching backwards as far as his body will allow, “Most tyrants just have their prisoners killed. Don’t know of too many who get weird about it and keep their prisoners chained up to live out their gross fantasies.”

“You know of at least one,” Ren replies with a lick of his lips, his hand coming up slowly and grabbing Poe around the throat, right below the durasteel collar. “It’d be better for you if you stopped fighting me.”

Poe coughs as the Ren’s grip tightens, his hands uselessly tied at his sides. He kicks out his feet but finds no purchase on the slippery tile at such an awkward angle.

Even fully naked, beaten, bruised, and freshly assaulted, Poe doesn’t stop trying to get away. Can’t, won’t, _shouldn’t_. He lets the resentment and frustration build inside of him, growling through the pain of Ren’s hand tightening on his throat.

“ _I’ll never stop fighting you_ ,” he croaks out through gritted teeth.

His captor groans in satisfaction and squeezes Poe’s neck hard enough to make him cough violently, letting go a moment later and allowing Poe to fall to the floor once again. Poe doesn’t have time to curl in on himself in a desperate attempt to suck much-needed air into his lungs before Ren’s hand moves to grab him by the hair and tilt his head back. It feels like his entire scalp is on fire with how hard Ren is pulling and he tries not to whine from the pain of it.

Ren steps forward, crowding into Poe’s face, staring down at the man who’s forced to stare back up. Poe grunts at the feeling of Ren’s cock touching his cheek and Ren’s knuckles smashing into his mouth with every stroke.

Above him, Ren looks depraved, panting like a wild animal, jaw slack, his wet hair wild around his face. Poe tries to close his eyes but Ren won’t let him, smashing his head back into the tiles every time Poe tries.

“Fuck off!” Poe shouts, tired and hurting and completely and utterly fed up.

It takes two more quick jerks and then Ren is climaxing with a sickening groan, shooting strings of cum all over Poe’s face. A bit lands in his eyes but most drips into his mouth and he tries to spit it free unsuccessfully. He feels disgusting, covered in sweat and semen, sitting naked on the floor of a wet shower with a maniac looming over him like a rabid animal.

Ren releases the grip on Poe’s hair eventually, standing back to observe his debauched prisoner with a look that Poe couldn’t even begin to process.

As lousy as he felt being dragged into this place, Poe feels even worse now, fresh bruises blossoming in creative new places. He’ll keep fighting back, will never allow Ren to just _have_ him as he wants him, but in this moment he feels lower than he has in a while. He can’t even clean off his own face with his arms at his sides. _Pathetic_ , he thinks to himself, hoping Ren isn’t listening to his thoughts.

“I’m going to kill you,” he manages to say when Ren finally seems to come back to himself, stepping back to button up his pants.

Ren thinks on it for a moment before replying, his voice soft. “I hope so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abrupt ending? You betcha.
> 
> I'll add to this if inspiration strikes, so feel free to comment with ideas or prompts. I'm not going to let my inability to write smut stop me from writing smut.
> 
> <3

**Author's Note:**

> Moderating comments because duh.


End file.
